


Wermut

by Vivian



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, M/M, Sexual Content, unhealthy family dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-09 09:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3244049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivian/pseuds/Vivian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Berlin, Winter 2015. A palgue has carried off most of Europe's population. The dead rise. Legolas stays with his father in the abandoned capital of Germany.<br/>There's only one thing to do: survive.<br/>Yet midst the steel-grey ruins a sickness is fostered in Legolas' heart whenever he looks upon Thranduil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angelas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelas/gifts).



> So this kinda started as a fic swap for the sweet [Snow_Glows_Blue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow_Glows_Blue). Hope you enjoy this :)

 

**I**

 

The nights are bitter cold.

They sleep in cars or abandoned houses. Few are not filled with rotting corpses. It is January and Legolas still does not accept. It's the only thing keeping him alive. That, and Thranduil.

It's been four months now.

“Go to sleep,” Thranduil says and lies down on the dirty mattress. Legolas follows him. There's no electricity, so they sleep skin against skin.

His father's breathing. The warmth of his body. They have never been close, but this is what war makes out of you. Nevertheless he shivers. Thranduil lays his arm around him, pulls him close. Legolas breathes him in. An earthy smell, sweet like a tree cut and bleeding. Legolas does not dare to speak a word.

Sleep comes quickly.

 

The ruins of Berlin are grey and desolate. Low hangs the sky, full of rain or snow. The city's decadence has been pulverised, debauchery choked in the early hours of morning. Dirt crusts the streets and a wind howls through the alleys. They are wider than Dresden. Dresden that is still burning. For miles they could see the smoke, black and thick. For weeks it had rained greasy ashes.

His father had laughed when they had seen the bombs fall. Symmetrical, he had said.

Tall and pale he had stood there, his hair falling over his shoulders in champagne-coloured cascades. His shadow clean cut on the road before him. Behind him the sun had broken through the vague greyness of the clouds with amber coloured glory. Legolas had had to avert his eyes. They'd gotten into the car. Had driven into the brutal, golden dusk. In front of them the heavens had broken, ripped open by the wavering sun set into the sky like a hungry god awaiting sacrifice. And sacrifice he had gotten. Another city burning.

Mad, Legolas had thought, and, how shall we survive this?

 

There are other groups. They never mingle. Thranduil keeps them away. They are no good, Thranduil says. What do you know, Legolas thinks. He's been four months alone with him.

Is it a surprise that Thranduil finds foothold in this new world so quickly? Where to find weapons, where to find food. He'd taught Legolas how to shoot before he went to college and to fight with a knife in the first month after the plague.

Thranduil is probably one of the few who knew how to use a gun _before_ everything came crashing down, before the plague had spread. Legolas can't deny he's thankful for it now. It'd made their way from Dresden to Berlin possible.

 

The first time Thranduil had shot someone in front of him, Legolas had crouched down and vomited. It had not been a walker. It'd been a man with a knife in his hand, starring at their supplies. They'd had just fought for a few cans of beans and salted meat over an hour. _Move_ , Thranduil had hissed.

The next time had not vomited anymore. The third time he'd just kept going.

 

Among the ruins his father strides. He is quick and quiet, the walkers seldom see him come. It's him who feeds them both. Legolas does as best as he can to help.

The city is so quiet now. Silence hangs over it like acid fog, it drowns out everything, everyone. For now, the air is calm, but there's a murmur in the wind. A storm is coming. Thranduil knows it, too.

But they have nowhere else to go. It could snow any time now and the woods towards Brandenburg are not save. Potsdam up to Wannsee has been overrun. Walkers everywhere. They've seen them tumble and crawl along the rails before turning back quickly. Mitte had been evacuated. The Alexanderplatz is desolate. Few have stayed in the city.

No point in going, Thranduil had said when they'd been asked to join a group who fled. His face had been unmoving. He will kill me too, Legolas had thought, a breath-length away from just leaving him. But so far Thranduil had been right. And Legolas does not trust himself to make the best decision.

They need more supplies. Need to stock up for the colder nights. Thank the lord for global warning. If the winter were like those he remembers from his childhood, they'd all be dead already.

At least, except for the walkers, they seldom have to fight for their food. The last other human he has seen was a sturdy man with a dark beard some three weeks ago. Thranduil's eyes had narrowed dangerously.

Had he known him? With him had been two boys, maybe Legolas' age.

Legolas' heart beats quickly when he thinks of them. To talk to someone else than his father …

And perhaps they had news. The last time Legolas had had the opportunity to watch TV or listen to the radio had been three months ago. The plague had spread through Europe, France and Italy first, though – back then – was presented as containable. Of the walkers they had not known yet. So maybe if they found a way to leave, perhaps to England – but Thranduil had always cut him off. If there are ships, the British government won't let them get on land. We'd be shot before we step out of the water.

They can't do that, Legolas had said. But of course. Of course they could. They had rained bombs on their cities, Dresden, Munich, Frankfurt, Cologne, and these are only the ones he's heard about. They do not know why they didn't bomb Berlin. Perhaps at that point, they'd given up the hope to wipe the land clean. Perhaps they had abandoned them then already. Legolas swallows. He mustn't think of it. He lives in the now. He lives only until dusk. No thoughts strive beyond the border of night. Because he knows what lays in wait for him.

 

Thranduil pushes him against a wall. Around the corner he can hear slurring steps. Scratching of bones against the pavement. The gurgling, wet rasp of rotten lungs. Legolas' grip tightens on his knife. Thranduil lets go of him, peers around the corner then moves back quickly. They only fight if they can't avoid it.

This is his life now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this. Please let me know what you guys think! It's my first multi chapter in ages.  
> I know this chapter is kinda short, but there are longer ones to come ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

 

He wakes suddenly. Fingers clutch over his mouth. Legolas opens his eyes wide. Darkness. Terror jolts through his body. There is warm breath at his ear. Thranduil. Legolas sighs against the long, ringed fingers. Carefully they slide from his lips. His eyes slowly adjust to the twilight. It must be an hour or two till dawn. In the dimness he can see his father's eyes. Wide. Alarmed. Finally he wipes away the last bits of sleep-dizziness. Tilts his head. Thranduil makes a gesture towards the door, then puts his hand behind his ear. Legolas listens. Scratching. Steps. His heartbeat quickens.

Thranduil nods towards Legolas' bag of belongings. His lips move soundlessly: _Hurry_.

 

They can't take much of their food supplies. Legolas gnashes his teeth, but keeps going. The steps become louder, come closer. The stench of rot creeps up the stairs. Thranduil shoves a desk in front of the door as quietly as possible. They take the fire escape.

 

Outside the night is full of movement. Thranduil walks before him. Legolas stays close. No street lamps. Only shadow-layers. The walkers drag themselves along the streets. Their gurgling and groaning is everywhere. It seems as if they all move into the same direction. A shiver runs down Legolas' back. They cannot stay out here. Above them the sky is of a dark grey. The clouds are heavy. A single, icy drop falls on his cheek. Then another. And another.

“ _C'mon_ ,” Thranduil hisses. He takes his hand and pulls Legolas into a side street. There is a school somewhere here. If only he remembered in which direction—but Thranduil remembers. It is exactly where he leads him. His steps are swift, quiet. They have been here a while ago. Perhaps a week. Back then it had been fairly secluded, not a walker inside. However, too big to oversee, Thranduil had said.

Now they break in through a window and climb inside. It's quiet.

Shattered glass on the floor. Rustling papers scattered everywhere. They take the next set of stairs and stop at the first classroom. Inside they shove two desks in front of the door. Legolas sighs. It's cold and his hair is wet from the rain.

“I take the first watch,” Thranduil says.

Legolas gets down, puts his backpack underneath his head and pulls one of the covers he's kept over his body. It doesn't do much to keep out the cold and his heart is racing still. He closes his eyes. His hands tremble. He wants to scream or cry, but he only lies there and claws his fingers into the cover.

Suddenly there's a hand in his hair. His eyes fly open. It's too dark to see but schemes, shades of anthracite blurring into each other. And they all belong to Thranduil. His father is close. He can feel his breath. A hand framing his face. Dizziness lets Legolas close his eyes again. Dawn is still far away and in these hours before, everything is blind. They both are.

He opens his arms and Thranduil moves against him. It is necessity that drives them to each other. His father's heartbeat so loud. Legolas holds on to him quietly.

Perhaps he could've cried now and perhaps Thranduil would have held him anyway. But he does not.

What they do, they do not for the other. They do it for themselves.

Legolas keeps his eyes closed.

 

He wakes. It must be early noon.

His part of the watch had been quiet, almost peaceful if not for the constant sound of dragging steps on the pavement beneath. The day is dim as they all have been those past months. No sight of the sun. Berlin is steel-grey and lightless. Always the sky hangs low, fades into the roofs of the taller buildings. They abide here amongst corpses. It's a wasteland, soundless but for the never ending drag of steps. It is hard not to forget how it had been before. Every day his memories lose a little more colour and every night he tries to paint them anew.

He's kept an old diary of his. The entries have become his mantra. He knows them by heart, all those troubles and easy pleasures, those joys of days long past. They are his lighthouse. They guide him maybe even more than Thranduil does.

His father is nowhere to be seen. Thranduil does that, disappear without giving him any sort of notice. Usually it is a good sign and means he feels safe enough to leave Legolas on his own. However, it does nothing to quiet Legolas' mind. Anything could happen. Thranduil is reckless and it chokes him. Anger tingles in his stomach at the thought of his father. Of how less he cares. How haughty he is, has always been. And sometimes Legolas feels like smashing his head in. To take his face into his hands, stroke along the line of his neck and then bash him against a wall until those strands of long hair are dirtied with blood. Legolas tries to breathe evenly. Tries not to let it take control. But before his eyelids burns the image of his father's eyes, so clear and cold. He's an ignorant and cruel animal. And Legolas sees him smile, sharp and blinding.

With a jolt he stands, takes his knife and holsters his flash-light to his belt. Then he leaves the room.

 

He checks the floor they are on for any walkers that could have crawled up here in the night. Everything's empty. Good. He walks into another class room and looks outside. There's a courtyard. The building has five storeys. This is way too much ground to cover. They shouldn't stay here long. Or at least try to barricade their side of the building somehow. There's still that broken window they climbed in last night. Legolas sighs exhaustedly, pinches his nose with thumb and index-finger. For fuck's sake. Will they ever be safe again? Don't think about—a rustling sound.

Legolas swirls around. Gun up, finger on the trigger.

“Who the fuck are you?”

It's the man they had seen some weeks ago. And he holds a gun at him. Not tall, but bulky, strong arms. Dangerous glint in his dark eyes. Grim mouth.

“Could ask you the same,” Legolas says.

“Put the gun down, lad,” the man growls. Legolas raises his eyebrows.

“I'm not here to take anything from you,” Legolas says.

“Put the gun down,” the man presses and takes a step closer.

“No.”

There's something feral in his gaze, in the way he moves. A shiver runs down Legolas' spine.

“Stay where you are,” he says and has to force his voice not to tremble.

The man comes closer. Legolas takes a step back. Panic rises in his chest. His heart beats furiously.

“I said stay where you are,” Legolas says again.

“I will shoot you if you don't put that fucking gun down,” the man says quietly. His voice is raspy, cold. There's no doubt he _will_ shoot him if he doesn't—

Suddenly his eyes catch a movement. Legolas holds his breath. Then there's Thranduil behind that man and his gun pressing into the back of the man's head.

“Don't threaten my son, you piece of filth,” Thranduil hisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I know this took forever and I am very sorry.  
> And this was not very long, but there will be longer ones at some point as the action thickens.  
> So, I hope you liked this anyway! Please let me know <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, apologies for the long wait everyone! I'm humbled & happy if you still care for this.  
> I might have abandoned this halfway if it weren't for my bae (angelas). I want to thank you both for your thoughtful suggestions and for being so enthusiastic about this story ;///; and it is because of you that I start to get into it properly. Thank you bae. I love you. <3

**III**

 

The man laughs quietly.

Still, Thranduil’s gun is shoved against the back of his head. Legolas holds his breath.

“Who knew we’d meet again,” the man says. Thranduil unlocks the safety on his gun.

“Throw your gun on the floor. Hands behind your back,” Thranduil commands. There’s a threat in his voice that makes Legolas shiver. The man complies. Legolas keeps his weapon pointed at the man and comes closer, picks up his gun, stuffs it into his jacket’s pocket.

“Take your belt, and bind his wrists,” Thranduil orders, “like I showed you.”

Legolas nods, slips his belt off with one hand and slides it around the man’s wrists. For a second he catches Thranduil’s gaze. That’s when it happens.

Suddenly the man swirls around, his arm dashing against Thranduil’s gun—it skitters over the floor. Someone shouts—a thump—Thranduil down. The man lunging towards Legolas. Then pain. Blood spilling from his nose, his head knocks against the floor. Everything is blurring.

A gunshot.

Darkness.

 

Twilight.

Grey and tainted, polluted. Pain jolting through his head. Everything muted, shadows blown. Crisp coldness. It takes Legolas a moment to remember. He sits up and sinks back down immediately. A groan forces its way over his lips.

Then there is a face, someone leaning over him. A boy. He looks familiar. Black hair, stubble, big eyes.

“How’s your head?”

Legolas groans again. “Where’s my father?” His heart beats a little quicker. He feels like choking.

“He’s mostly fine,” the boy says. Voice soft. He’s weak, Legolas thinks. Just like he is.

“Where is he?”

“Gonna get him,” the boy says.

A moment later Thranduil appears. He doesn’t lean down to him. He’s got a bruise on his lip and gauze wrapped around his upper right arm. Legolas stares at him, says nothing. It is only then that he realises that Thranduil could have been dead. That it is a real possibility still. He sucks in a shuddering breath.

“Get up,” Thranduil commands. Legolas swallows and sits up. The world spins around him. He has to steady himself on his hands. Thranduil lets out a contemptuous sigh, lips pursed in annoyance. Without another word he turns around. Legolas sinks back down. Closes his eyes. He thinks, Thranduil could have been dead. And Legolas is no longer sure if that frightens him.

The boy comes back and sits down at his side.

“I brought you something to eat,” he says and places a can with a spoon next to his head. “My name is Kili.”

“I'm not hungry,” Legolas grits out.

“You should eat.” There's concern in Kili's voice. Anger rises inside Legolas.

“I said I'm not hungry.”

The boy puts his hands up in a defensive gesture, shrugs then gets up. But before he turns around he lends Legolas another worried look. Why does this stranger care for him? Who are these people? And what has happened to the man?

Someone else enters the room and steps into his vision. He is taller than Kili, though only by little. He has blond hair and a blond beard, but the similarity between the two is undeniable. A family then.

“Fili,” he says. “Who the hell are you?”

“Legolas,” he answers. “What has happened?”

Fili snorts and sits down. He takes the can that Kili had placed there before and starts eating. Legolas' stomach rumbles. Fili ignores it, swallows a mouthful and then says while chewing the next bit, “Your father and Thorin fought. We stopped them.”

“Is he … is he alright?”

“Thorin? Yeah. Got a scratch from that fucking hunting knife though.”

“And my father?”

“Said nothing, ay? Bullet grazed his arm. They're both pretty god damn lucky if you ask me.”

 

When Legolas wakes next, Thranduil is by his side. It's dark but he hears him breathing, smells his scent. He is asleep. Hushed voices outside. A pale shimmer of light underneath the door. They must hold guard. The others. Fili, Kili and what was their father's name? Thorin. Yes. Thorin. What had he said when Thranduil had placed his gun against his head...? Something about meeting again. They knew each other. Thranduil stirs in his sleep, turns towards Legolas and flings an arm over his' side. For a moment Legolas holds his breath. Warmth. He lets out a shaking breath and moves closer. Thranduil grips him tighter. Legolas is angry still, feels it singing in his blood, but he can barely think now. Thranduil stirs again. He strokes over Legolas' hair, then his cheek, his neck. He must be awake but Legolas does not dare speak a word. This is for shadows and silence.

He slides his hand over Thranduil's as his fingers slip under his shirt.

 

Legolas wakes early. Or at least he believes he does. There is no way to tell except for the overall silence. Outside the sky is of a dark grey. No light seeps through the contour-less clouds. He entangles himself from Thranduil's arms and gets up quietly. Outside the door Fili holds guard. The others are nowhere to be seen. Must sleep in other rooms. Fili nods at him in a silent greeting. Legolas doesn't so much as rise his eyebrows. For a while they just stand there, side by side. Crunching outside. They look at each other, Legolas gets out his knife, Fili, a small axe, and together they slide over to the window front. Walkers drag themselves along the streets, more than the previous days. Legolas swallows. He hadn't thought they'd stay here for long but with that many walkers on the streets it'd be suicide to change locations. Something cold and heavy settles in his stomach. They have barely enough food to last them 3 days. Most of their provisions they had to abandon. He shoots Fili a quick look. If they don't have food to spare _and_ are willing to share this will end in bloodshed after all.

 

When they return Thranduil sits in a circle with Thorin and Kili. He makes a gesture to them to sit down as well. Kili gets up and takes Fili's place as guard.

Thorin scowls at Legolas as he sits down. The man looks tense. There are bandages over his side. The gauze tainted fresh-red somewhat under the left side of his ribs. That must be Thranduil's doing. A bit more than just the scratch Fili had told him about. When his gaze wanders to his father, Thranduil looks no less tense. His thick brows are knitted together and his lips are set in a thin line.

“So?” Fili asks.

“We... decided to share our provisions,” Thorin grits out.

Legolas takes up to thank them when Thorin cuts him off with a sharp gesture of his hand.

“Under the condition,” Thorin adds, “that you help us acquire more food before we leave here. And leave most of it to us.” Legolas wants to protest, but a look towards Thranduil lets him shut his mouth.

“And we agree,” his father says.

“Have you told them?” Fili asks.

“Told us what?” Thranduil asks Thorin sharply.

“It is not your place—” Thorin rumbles, voice low as thunder and harsh as storm.

“It _is_ my place,” Fili retorts. “She wouldn't want us not to at least _ask._ ”

“He is right, uncle,” Kili cuts in from the door. For a second Legolas is confused that Thorin is not their father, but then his attention snaps back to the conversation.

Thorin snorts angrily and were not Thranduil in the room, all too aware of his every movement, he'd shy away from the force that Thorin exudes.

“There's a last stronghold in Göteborg. My sister and my brother wait for us in Rostock with a boat,” Thorin says. Legolas stares at him, unbelieving.

“You should come with us,” Fili says. “We have a better chance at surviving if we're in a group.”

“Journey north to Sweden? At this time of year?” Thranduil's voice is merely a whisper. “It's madness. You will all _die_.” Now he speaks louder, addressing Thorin directly.

“Stay here if you will, and rot,” Thorin spits and rises in one sudden motion. Fili grabs his arm, but Thorin breaks out of his grip abrasively. Legolas sees how the blood stain on his side deepens in colour. The tang of copper hangs in the air. Quickly Thorin exits the room. According to the steps, Kili follows him. Fili gets up too, albeit slower and with a heavy sigh.

Legolas does not dare look at Thranduil for he knows what he will see. Resentment. Refusal. Though this might be their last god-damn chance. Legolas feels numb, empty, like he cannot utter a word ever again. There's a decision he needs to make. And he's not sure if he can.

Slowly he gets up.

“Where are you going,” Thranduil says tonelessly.

Legolas doesn't turn to face him. “I have to know something.”

And with that he follows Thorin.

 

Every step that takes him further away from Thranduil lifts the heaviness inside him. A sickening euphoria takes hold of him.

When he reaches Thorin, Fili and Kili, they are speaking quickly in lowered voices. As he approaches they fall silent and Thorin regards him with an ugly, triumphant smile.

“Have you come to join us?” He rasps and takes a step closer. Legolas swallows.

  


They spend the rest of the day scouting the place and counting rations. If they eat sparsely it might last them perhaps 5 days. Hopefully the tide of walkers lessens before that. After everything is stored away back into their bags they go about scouting the school and securing the place. Legolas and Fili find some mats down in the gym that they carefully drag upstairs. They also find some powder-coffee in the back of a cupboard in the faculty room. The showers next to the gym are still running, though the water takes a moment to clear. Legolas wonders how many weeks more it'll take until everything is shut off. Electricity came first. Gas and water still work in most places. They fill some plastic bottles with water and bring all upstairs where they heat up a pot of coffee over the small gas burner that Fili and the others brought.

They all share some canned ravioli before they set out again, this time Kili accompanies them.

In the other wing of the school they hear shuffling steps. They turn around and barricade the doors that separates them from that part of the building with desks and tables they find in the adjoining rooms.

 

Legolas has not talked to Thranduil since earlier that day and whenever he passes him, his father doesn't look at him. He goes about alone, Thorin is the only who remains in the rooms they occupy. Begrudgingly so, but with that wound in his side he indeed better not move too much. Legolas wonders if he needs stitches. He mentions it to Fili but Fili tells him they have neither a needle nor thread. But he and Thranduil do. Legolas leaves Fili on watch and goes to fetch it from his father's rucksack. Thorin thanks him with a rumble, but when Legolas offers to help him with the stitches Thorin bats his hand away harshly. The touch is enough to make Legolas step back. Yet he can't help himself watching as Thorin peals off the bandages and slips thread through the needle. Quickly Thorin cleans the wound. The man's expression does not change when he starts sewing the wound shut. His thick fingers work methodically and deftly. This is not the first time he's done it. How does his father know this man?

 

Two nights pass. When he sleeps Thranduil and Kili hold guard. When they sleep it is him and Fili. They stay and patrol the doors, watch the windows, watch the walkers. Until Kili releases them and wakes Thranduil. Meanwhile Thorin tosses on his mattress. Fever heats his brow.

Their provisions are starting to run short. They have to make a run for supplies soon.

 

It is an hour to dawn when they set out. Thranduil, Kili and him. Kili had told them which houses they had already searched. They've slipped out of the school from a back-entrance and now scout the small street before them. The tide of walkers has ebbed. They can make it into the next house if they are quick. They have their knives, and Kili has his fingers curled tightly around the heft of a hammer. Legolas' heart pounds heavily as he looks upon his father. They are doused in silence and the break of day. The sky has turned a paler grey. Thranduil turns, and looks at him.

Legolas swallows. Then they move.

In the first house they find no food, they start on the highest floor and then slowly work their way down, but the doors have all been broken open and the flats thoroughly searched. They take however four winter coats that they roll and pack into their rucksacks.

Back down they are about to enter the cellar. The door creaks when Kili touches the handle and swings open before he pushes it down. It's a mistake. Footsteps. Gurgling. The stench of rot.

“ _Go!_ ” Thranduil hisses and they turn the corner—out, out, back on the street—

They take the next side street—more slurring steps—stop—retreat, take the one after that.

Quickly they climb through a broken window. Must've once been a children day-care centre. Legolas nearly stumbles over a Lego brick. Quick breathing. No other sound. The tension in his body eases, but the grip on his knife doesn't.

“Look around,” Thranduil orders quietly.

They spread out. Legolas moves, in one hand his knife, in the other a torch light.

The next door he opens leads into an office. Desk, papers strewn all about. A shelf filled with row after row of books. For a moment Legolas stares at it, then he goes through the drawers. Just papers and pens. He takes some of them, slips them into his rucksack.

Carefully he listens for any strange noises, but all seems fine. Once more his gaze is drawn to the bookshelf. He gives in, reaches out, his fingertips brush over their spines. He stops at one as thin as perhaps the bone of his smallest finger. Sylvia Plath. _Ariel_. He takes it before he can think twice. Puts it into the pocket of his coat.

When he returns his father is already waiting. He arches an eyebrow. Legolas shakes his head slightly. Thranduil's lips curl in disapproval, then he nods towards Kili who just exits another room.

“We found their kitchen!” Kili whispers excitedly. “They also had some medicine.”

Legolas watches how Thranduil lays his hand on Kili's shoulder for a brief, sickening moment. Kili gives him a shy smile. Thranduil smiles back. Something wrenches in Legolas's guts.

Then Thranduil says quietly, “Lets go.” His gaze is on Legolas, his voice low but cutting.

 

The horizon like a wound. Light in hues of blood seeps into the clouds.

In the streets fog is woven into the air, cold and carrying the scent of sickness. They have to hurry. Fili leads the way. Thranduil is just a step behind him. They are running, and Legolas can feel the book in his pocket bounce and—next step—

It slips out.

Legolas stops. He turns and kneels down to pick it up and—

From out of the fog a walker comes. Legolas takes the book, he turns to _run_ but there's another walker. And another. Without thought Legolas dashes forward, knife severing the head of one of the walkers' shoulders. The fog has thickened, but there—Thranduil and Kili. Kili rounds a corner and is gone from his sight. He wants to call out but that would attract more walkers. He slashes around him. Heartbeat furious. Blood pounding. Then Thranduil turns. Legolas' eyes open wide. And between wisps of fog, Thranduil _smiles_.

Horror seizes him. Something cold presses the air out of his lungs. Desperately he beheads another walker, but they come and come— Legolas can't think, just moves, fights, stinking blood splashes onto him, guts sprawl over him, rotten. Terror throbs in his veins.

Time is twisted out of shape and stretched. And there he sees Thranduil walk towards him slowly, watching. Insidious. He strides, face luminous as a fen fire. Erlking.

Legolas is pushed down and it is in the moment he opens his mouth to scream—that Thranduil moves.

Blood and the sharp scraping of bone being cut—then he's on his feet. Thranduil's fingers gripping his arm, tearing him away and forward. Kili is somewhere there too and Legolas only sees his wide brown eyes, and his heart beats fast, and he can barely breathe, and they run.

 

They reach the school, then they're inside.

And still Legolas cannot think. Does not dare to. They ascend the stairs, and he sits on the floor, and there are voices, and Fili grabs his shoulder, and someone takes his rucksack and coat from him. He swallows and then Thranduil says something and Fili helps him up. A hand in his back, he leads him down, to the gym and to the showers and then the water patters down on him, first cold, then warming, and he trembles even when it turns hot.

 

He speaks little the rest of the day. He stays with Fili, and they eat in silence. They help Thorin change his bandages and clean the wound. Kili has found some disinfectant back in the children day-care and now they apply it carefully around the wound. Neither of them know what to do, but Thorin only murmurs in his fever. They've given him some aspirin and have put cold towels around his calves. Legolas sees how Kili's fingers tremble, and in that moment a sharp splinter of hatred for the boy pierces him. He leaves them, finds the the book, some pages splattered, and sits down in one of the adjoining rooms. Opens the book at a random page and reads: _Or shall I bring you the sound of poisons?_

 

That night the wind howls in the streets. And under the suffocating coat of darkness, Thranduil holds him in his arms. Legolas is engulfed in his warmth, his scent, viscous and sweet.

Thranduil murmurs cozening, “Are you afraid of me?”

Thranduil moves against him. Legolas feels his lips against the nape of his neck. Searing. Branding. Something sharp coils inside him. Curses curdled on his tongue.

He replies nothing and moves closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Goethe's Erlking reference >D "Erlkönig" in German is supposedly a wrong translation of the Danish version of "Elf-king". I couldn't pass up on that.  
> Please let me know what you thought about this chapter!
> 
> Say 'Hi' to me on [tumblr](http://lieutenant-mairon.tumblr.com) if you like.  
> 


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